


Pokeshipping Week 2016 Collection

by Warlordess



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: F/M, First Love, Having each others' backs, How They Changed The Others' World, If Tracey Never Joined, Love Confessions, One-Shot, Series, Ship Week 2016, Sleeping Together, Themes challenge, pokeshipping - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-03 17:11:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warlordess/pseuds/Warlordess
Summary: A collection of one-shots written for Tumblr's official Pokeshipping Week, placed from Nov 1st-Nov 7th.Day Five: "Sleeping Together"Summary : Ash Ketchum is in love with a memory and doesn't even realize it. Pokeshipping. Relies heavily on symbolism.





	1. Day One: "Having Each Others' Backs"

Yo-ho-ho, everyone, and welcome to my first contribution to 2016′s Pokeshipping Week! I was really anxious about not being able to take part so I’m proud to present one of the four fics I wrote for this event!

I chose one of the optional themes because I wasn’t really feeling the original, designated one (”Alola”). I hope you’ll all still give my fic a read. 

This is an AU version of Misty rescuing Ash during the second movie - **Pokeshipping: The Movie** , as I like to call it, lol - wherein she uses CPR to bring him back after getting him to shore (inspired by my being CPR-certified for work). I remember hearing awhile back that this was originally supposed to be how the movie played out, but the director at the time felt it would be taken as some sort of “hint” if Misty “kissed” Ash when performing mouth-to-mouth.

All that being said, I went with it anyway, but I made sure that no normal, romantic feelings or reactions took place until _after_ Ash was conscious again. There’s also a quick nod to Team Rocket’s sacrifice (just Ash bothering to ask about them) since, after they decided to let go of Lugia in the film, they ended up basically forgotten and that… sucks.

Anyway, on to the read!

**O** o **O** o **O**

She doesn’t tell anyone that it’s the scariest moment of her life.

 

_(scarier than bugs)_

_(scarier than Gyarados)_

_(scarier than leaving him behind to take on more responsibility than you’ve ever had before)_

 

Well, maybe not, but that’s a whole different life-crippling fear she has to tackle and she’s more concerned at this point with the here and now.

 

Terror grips her heart, her spirit, ice claws away at her life, cold strips her of any other sensation besides pain and numb and yet all she thinks about is him laying supine and still on the frost-covered ground before her.

 

_(no response)_

_(no heartbeat)_

_(no pulse)_

_(no hope)_

 

She furiously stalls her train of thought, enraged at herself that she ever let it get that far. This is why she’s here, after all, _this_ is why she knew she couldn’t stay with Rudy, or more recently, allow Melody to sail in search of her best friend without her.

 

_(Ash Ketchum, Mr. Pokemon Master)_

_(the hero that you yourself convinced of his role in the prophecy)_

_(the chosen one, the average everyday hero)_

_(the boy who’d promised to be the number one greatest Pokemon trainer in the world…)_

_(… your best friend…)_

_(the boy who’d convinced you about what it truly meant to love Pokemon so dearly)_

_(so dearly that you’d risk your own life)_

_(the one who indeed had just risked his life…)_

 

_It’s not done yet!_ For all of the times Ash Ketchum seemed to miraculously be okay at the end of everything, here he was… in need.

 

_(in need of help)_

_(in need of breath)_

_(in need of you)_

 

She won’t disappoint him.

 

“Tracey, have you ever done CPR before?” the redhead asks in a furious rush, readjusting herself to the right of Ash’s torso and placing one palm flat in the upper center of his chest, the other one fisting overtop it as she prepares to start compressions.

“U - uh, no,” he replies in a shaken tone and she isn’t sure if it’s because of the daunting task she is clearly requesting him to assist in or if it’s because he hadn’t honestly thought it would come to this.

 

Well, he didn’t know Ash Ketchum like she did.

 

“But I’ve seen it done a few times back home so…”

 

“Okay then, get ready to learn because I may need your… help…” And then, under her breath, she said, “… Twenty-nine, thirty…”

 

The redhead pulls back from her position hunched over the raven-haired trainer’s chest, leans back his head so that his chin is facing a perfect, ninety degree angle, plugs his nose with one hand, puckers his lips just far enough open to receive her, and then presses her own to them and blows once… twice… before sitting back up again and placing her hands - bottom one straight with fingers stretched wide so that her top hand’s fingers can curl tightly around them - back on his chest once more.

 

“You do…” she grunts, internally keeping count of where she is, “… two sets of thirty compressions, and then…” she pauses to take another breath, “… two breaths, each a second or so long. The head has… to be tilted straight back to keep his airway open while you supply oxygen. If you… give him breaths, keep an eye on his chest each time to make sure it… rises. That way… you know it worked.”

 

She is halfway through her second set already, watching Tracey to note any reaction that he’s followed her previous explanation. At first, he seems stuck in his suspended state of awe at her knowledge and execution of skill but then he nods apprehensively.

 

“Watch me again. I should be good for one or… two more rounds but… after that, I probably need your help,” she forewarns him, feeling the exertion of her continuously strenuous task rub her raw in almost every way.

 

_(still nothing)_

_(no change)_

_(no good)_

_(no… Ash…)_

 

No. She can’t let that get to her, she can’t let her fears swallow her up now. It has only been a few minutes since CPR was started, there’s still time.

 

_(how long until you got to him?)_

_(how long was he waiting for help?)_

_(how late were you in realizing something was wrong?)_

_(how hopeless is this?)_

 

And then, finally…

 

_(how severely have you doomed the world?)_

 

_Stop_ , she screams internally, doing her best to ebb the oncoming panic attack, _You don’t know that he wasn’t breathing the whole time… Pikachu was there - he helped_ , she reminds herself, finishing her second set of breaths and silently resuming compressions.

 

_(you should’ve acted sooner)_

_(you knew something was wrong)_

_(you should’ve spoken up earlier)_

_(look what you’ve done)_

_(it’s your fault)_

_(this is all your fault)_

 

She nearly chokes on her own breath as the thought crosses her mind. It’s strange to think back to the start of this scene and remember that she’d been rallying her own strength, commending herself for following Ash instead of staying with Rudy, telling herself she’d found her reason why, when now she can’t find a clear path out of her guilty conscience.

 

_(why’d you come this far after all)_

_(you know you’re no good)_

_(you’re no use to him)_

_(you’re…)_

 

Tracey drops to his knees beside her, apparently feeling a bit more confident after watching her process a few times and hearing her explanation. And he doesn’t know it, but it’s this action that saves her soul from guilty self-consumption. For now anyway.

 

“Do you want me to work on compressions now?” he asks almost timidly, wildly impressed it seems by her wealth of skill and endurance but also knowing she can’t keep it up forever.

 

“Hold on…” the redhead tells him, leaning forward and tilting Ash’s head back, offering two more breaths of air before sitting up and saying, “Let me just…”

 

And she places her index and middle fingers to the opposite side of the boy’s neck, just passed his adam’s apple, holding them there for one… two… five… ten… fifteen…

 

There’s a very slight throbbing that she hadn’t felt there before, and she senses an all-consuming wave of relief fill her from the tips of her toes to the nubs of her grimy fingernails. For sure, that’s definitely a…

“A pulse! I think he has a–”

 

But her response is interrupted by the boy below her flinching and gasping, face, neck, and shoulders wrenching wildly to the side as he vomits sea water onto the ground for the following few seconds.

 

“Ash…” both Misty and Tracey state in unison, the Pokemon watcher taking the opportunity to reach around and alternate rubbing and patting his back to encourage the projection of water from his lungs.

 

“I…” the raven-haired trainer wheezes, breaking down into another fit of forceful coughing, “I don’t…” he tries again but faces the same result, cheeks flaming hot in agonizing suffocation as he continues expelling the foreign substance from his insides.

 

_(support him)_

_(help him)_

_(he’s alive)_

_(but he’s not out of the woods yet)_

 

And, before she can stop herself, before Ash can in any way object, before Tracey can even ask his own question about how he can help, the redhead grabs a hold of the young boy’s hand and holds it tightly in her own.

 

_(is this really helping)_

_(who cares)_

_(it’s - you’re - needed)_

_(keep him conscious)_

_(keep him grounded)_

_(keep him here)_

 

For the following minute or two, Ash hacks away at each of his own attempts to breathe, but the struggle slowly declines to a lethargic, halfhearted fit, so Misty finally decides to update him on what’s going on. And all along, the guilt rages inside of her.

 

_(he’s alive because of you)_

_(he almost died because of you)_

_(so who’s really the burden now)_

 

“We - we think you and Lugia were attacked on your way back from Ice Island. W - we found you about ten minutes ago.”

 

She chooses not to go into the details of that escapade, also hoping he won’t think to ask any questions.

“Ice… What happened to Lugia? And to Team Rocket?” True to character, Ash wraps himself up in other questions. Alas, Misty and Tracey have no good answers for him.

 

“Lugia is… We don’t know, Ash. And what _about_ Team Rocket? We haven’t seen them since earlier after we escaped that Lawrence guy’s airship,” Tracey answers this time, half-curious over the matter and half-concerned that Ash had hallucinated something while unconscious.

 

Thunder roars around them, icy winds howl, the tide rising ever higher as it inches towards their heels. Misty’s intense sense of foreboding and dread refuel her in the meantime.

 

Maybe they’d won this battle, but the war continues to wage without their intervention.

 

Ash has gone strangely silent after Tracey’s answer but seems shaken back into responsiveness as the bitter chill and stormy skies exacerbate his latest traumas, reminding him of the world’s present predicament.

 

“Oh, yeah, I have…” he begins, faltering as he withdraws a white-blue glassy orb from his vest pocket, holding it in the palm of his hand and letting its warm light dance over his fingers.

 

_(he has the orb)_

_(he has hope in his hands)_

 

Before Misty or Tracey can say anything else, Ash places the orb hurriedly back in his pocket and braces himself to stand.

 

“Ash, hold on, will you?” she begs of him, arms outstretched in case he can’t hold his own weight, which is a good thing too, because he quite clearly can’t at first, knees going weak as he starts collapsing into her cushioning hold.

 

“See, you’re not–” she begins, fighting an uncomfortably familiar flush she knows has no business being there what with their present plight.

 

“Guys, I gotta… We don’t know how much time there is left, right?”

 

She and Tracey turn to give each other a stern look, both knowing he’s made a valid point.

 

“I gotta do this now.”

 

The worst thing in the world for her is looking at this boy in soaked, tattered clothes, flesh equal parts bruised and raw from the forces of nature and the madman hellbent on destroying him–

 

_(–the world)_

_(Ash Ketchum’s life is just collateral damage)_

_(collateral damage you can’t stand taking)_

 

–breath he hadn’t had more than ten minutes ago heaving from his burning nostrils and throat, the whites around his pupils bloodshot and gaze piercing even as his eyes begin to cross from exhaustion, and knowing ultimately that he’s right.

 

_(and you curse yourself)_

_(because your words brought him to this point)_

 

Though she knows that Ash, everyday hero that he is, wouldn’t have stood back and let things end this way even if she hadn’t helped him along.

 

_(and you ask yourself what good it does)_

_(to promise that he’ll never be alone)_

_(when your presence is equal parts useless and enabler)_

_(towards this boy’s recklessly heroic lifestyle)_

 

Though she also knows that she’s done well, fulfilled her role in one of the few ways she’s capable. Still, she can’t help but wonder…

 

_(just who is whose burden after all)_

_(when you feel like this in the end)_

 

The best she can do is carry him and support him as he completes his task.

 

_(a thankless job, you think)_

_(luckily, as nice as gratitude feels)_

_(that’s not why you made the decision to follow this boy)_

_(Ash Ketchum, danger-prone extraordinaire)_

_(you follow him because you think)_

_(there’s a place for you here)_

_(maybe you can help occasionally)_

_(because you love him)_

 

She doesn’t tell anyone that it’s the scariest moment of her life.

 

_(saving him)_

_(losing him)_

_(needing him)_

_(loving him)_

_(you’re not sure which one is the worst)_

_(maybe it’s all four)_

 

A few days later, an awkward, bumbling Ash approaches her. He never says thanks. Instead he asks for help. He asks her to teach him what she did to get him breathing. He says that he one day hopes - well, maybe not _hopes_ , but she understands - to return the favor to her.

 

And Misty can’t help thinking that this moment may be gratitude in its purest form.


	2. Day Two: "If Tracey Never Joined"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day two of my PW 2016 set. I found a loophole to exploit because I didn't like the idea of a journey or a retelling without Tracey as Ash and Misty's friend while they made it through the Orange Islands. So no, he doesn't travel with them... but that doesn't mean they never cross paths...

> Originally I was going to skip this theme, or else use one of the alternates, because I don’t like axing characters for a ship. I know he ain’t dead, but the point of this is to remove him from his place in canon and it’s still not fair. Tracey already gets enough hate in the fandom (and to this day, I still don’t know why). 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys and, pretty please, give me kudos, reviews, faves, etc! It makes me feel really good about my stupid writing when others care enough to share!

**O** o **O** o **O**

She’s hiding it well, and thank goodness, but of course it comes a little easier when her personal mortification is stifled by her overwhelmingly intense fear and aggravation about being stranded alone on a deserted island with one, Ash Ketchum, as the only other human around.

 

This could be the end for them, she thinks.

 

“ _I think we’ve accidentally captured a pair of very romantic creatures in our little cage!” James mocked enthusiastically._

 

“ _You mean?! D’aawe…” Jessie replied._

 

“ _Der loiveboids!” Meowth ridiculed in his odd accent._

 

And none too soon.

 

But then, the island ends up completely populated after all (if somewhat isolatedly so), and the both of them are assuredly, absolutely, irrevocably relieved to know it, relieved that they no longer have only each other to contend with, relieved that they don’t have to absorb themselves in their own mortification about Team Rocket’s remarks hours earlier, and relieved that they can distract themselves with a decent meal.

 

“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten!” Ash exclaims, devouring his apparently gourmet entree in seconds.

 

“Ash, it’s a greasy cheeseburger at a theme park family restaurant,” Misty reminds him, nibbling on one of her onion rings and sipping some water to chase it down, watching as the boy before her unceremoniously gulps down half his soda and then picks his sleeve of fries up and begins to inhale them with similar fervor.

 

And Team Rocket thinks she’s into _that_? Not likely, she concludes with a roll of her eyes, even as her cheeks flush vibrantly in defiance. And yet she can’t help wondering about it, can’t help mulling it over. Well, it’s not like her friend - friend? Is he really? - is in any mood to hold a conversation, right? So what else can she do but think?

 

How can anyone believe she would be interested in Ash Ketchum? Between his frustratingly self-sacrificial behavior, his egoistic fixation on winning gym matches and battles, his one-track-mind, his stupid hat, his intent to use a Pokemon he’s already shown he’s incapable of controlling, his inability to understand her as a girl (and it’s not that she wants him knowing too much, she’s gotta have some boundaries, some secrets - not that those secrets have to do with any _feelings_ either, just so she’s clear)…

 

Realizing she’s rambling to herself, she clears her throat (and hopefully her head), inadvertently drawing Ash’s attention.

 

“What’s up?” he asks blankly, apparently without a care in the world.

 

He should be so lucky.

 

“Nothing!” she immediately responds, tone slightly higher pitched than it should be.

 

“Ooookaaay…” he drawls back with a raised eyebrow, unsure if the matter is worth pursuing. But it’s enough of an interruption for him to give up on eating the rest of his food (not that there’s much left to lose interest in).

 

“It’s just, I was thinking about how funny it was for Team Rocket to say we were running away together, you know? I mean, us two? And just because Brock left us alone for all of a few hours. Well, a few hours at that point anyway.”

 

“I know, right? As if I’d ever be interested in a scrawny, whiney brat like you! I’m going to be the world’s number one Pokemon Master! Why should I settle for you when I’ll probably have loads of girls who wanna be with me? Not that I’m interested in that kind of stuff,” he adds at the end, but of course the damage is done.

 

“Excuse _me_? If anyone can do better, it’s me! I actually know what it means to treat someone right, how to show them I care! All you care about is Pokemon training! Being with you would be a waste of anyone’s time, Ash Ketchum!” she huffs, drawing her arms up to her chest and crossing them. “Especially _mine_!”

 

“Oh, _I’m_ a waste of _your_ time just because I have a goal I’m gonna make come true?!”

 

“No, _you’re_ a waste of _my_ time because that’s _all_ you’ve got going for you! Why would I wanna be with a guy whose only potential conversation topic and date idea is the ten or twenty trainers you managed to beat that day?!” she ridicules, glad that they’re sitting at a booth because it’s a lot less convenient to get up and draw more attention to themselves.

 

Not that they need any help there.

 

“Well, who’d wanna be with a girl who spends all of her time yelling a - and insulting them - wait…” he pauses momentarily, retracts his comment with a soft shake of his head, and instead asks, “You think I’m capable of beating a good twenty trainers a day?”

 

“Uuuh…” the redhead tapers off, unbridled panic accumulating in her chest. No, no! They’d finally broken through whatever wall Team Rocket had erected between them due to their unwarranted commentary about their relationship! Why was Ash latching on to the slightest positive slip-up in the middle of their latest argument? Didn’t he know that was just going to make things weird between them again?

 

“Th - that’s not what I meant!” she does her best to convince him, convince _herself_ , even though she can at least admit inside her own head that she _absolutely_ has that much faith in him. The trick is keeping _him_ from believing that for certain.

 

“But it’s what you _said_ , Misty.”

 

The other diner guests have returned to their own meals at this point, management wary but content that two of their youngest patrons are calming down and (hopefully) don’t need to be tossed from the establishment and banned.

 

“L - look, just because that’s what you _heard_ doesn’t mean that’s what I–”

 

“–Yeah, I guess that’s true. I mean, as if you’d think so much of me, right?” But he doesn’t sound wounded. He just sounds… accepting.

 

Accepting of what?

 

“You know what? I just thought of something,” he says next by way of changing the subject.

 

Misty’s fears begin alleviating themselves, evaporating to nothing, but not entirely quite yet. She’s spent the last six or seven hours staving off a panic attack at the possibility of the dynamic between she and Ash shifting, careening full-speed down a road neither of them are equipped to handle quite yet. Unbeknownst to her, of course, Ash has been doing much the same thing. And here they are now, still unsure what the aftermath is going to be for them.

 

“What is it, Ash?” she asks anyway, hoping he’ll say something to permanently clear the air.

 

“We’re fighting because Team Rocket said some stupid stuff to us but… I mean, it’s Team Rocket, right? Chances are that they were just trying to get under our skin to distract us and make getting away with our Pokemon easier.”

 

So simple. So eloquent. Who cares if it’s true or not? So much so that Misty can’t believe she hadn’t thought of it herself before now. Never mind that the chances of Team Rocket being _that_ cunning were on the slim side. This is a way out, an escape from their emotional predicament, if ever she’d heard of it.

 

And suddenly she can ignore the little voice in the back of her head demanding she face those _feelings_ that she definitely doesn’t have. And he can tune out those few memories he’s stored, saved, of a familiar redheaded girl in a kimono, once with a medium-length wig and crown (leaving her immediately unrecognizable), even a few times never changing her clothes at all and just wearing the charming kind of smile he’s never expected her to be capable of. And they can pretend for awhile longer that their relationship is exactly as they wear it on their sleeves.

So they spend the next twenty or thirty minutes getting along just fine; all shallow discussion with a minor side in ridiculing their everyday pseudo-villainous stalkers. And things are indeed normal for a time, no more Exeggutor shells, no sweating it out in fear of change not in their control. It’s just… them being them, and it’s nice.

 

It happens as they’re leaving the diner, trashing their burger wrappers and fry and onion ring sleeves and grabbing a last refill of their chosen beverages in their styrofoam cups before heading to the PokeCenter to check on their Pokemon.

 

There’s a young man in a long teal green tee-shirt at a nearby table, currently engrossed in his own meal. But across from him is an open sketchpad, and on the page displayed…

 

“Wha - wha - what _is_ that?” Misty yelps, so shocked that she actually has to point a shaking index finger at it.

 

“Huh? What’s what?” Ash asks from behind her, his chin nearly bumping into her shoulder as he stands on his tippy-toes hoping for a better look. And when he indeed gets it…

 

“Mwah! What is that?!”

 

It’s them, a sketch of course, from sometime in the past hour or so. They’re sitting across from each other at their booth, smiling, mouths open as if they’re chatting. The ambience is lighthearted and friendly, maybe _more_ than friendly, if the level of comfortability in the image before them holds any truth at all.

 

“Oh, sorry,” the teenage boy - presumably the artist of the outrageously invasive but otherwise highly skilled piece of work - responds almost bashfully to their commentary. “I hope it’s not out of line. I usually draw Pokemon but there aren’t too many options for that while I’m here. I just got bored while I was waiting for my food so…”

 

“B - but - but why do we - why would you - why do we look - I don’t–” Ash articulates oh-so-well until Misty decides to take over for him.

 

“I can’t believe you’d just peep on two random strangers like this! It’s so gross and rude a - and inappropriate! Not to mention we don’t look a thing like that! We barely like each other at all!”

 

“W - wait a sec!” the teenage boy says, apparently taking some offense to this latest criticism, “I’m a Pokemon Watcher - I draw based on what I see, and this is what I saw between the two of you a little while ago. You both may not notice, you may not like it, and maybe it’s not one hundred percent constant - but at the time, this is exactly how you looked.”

 

The two preteens stare dumbfoundedly at the young man, then down at the fruits of his labor, then back again in disbelief.

 

It was one thing when it was just Team Rocket. They could more easily than not blow off anything the dastardly trio said, even if it took some time to come to grips. But this is different. Now it’s a stranger somehow drawing the conclusion that they’re on such good terms (for lack of a more comfortable phrasing). Now it runs the risk of being _true_ as opposed to just being a ploy used in order to steal their Pokemon while they’re distracted like they’d been so content in pretending.

 

“A Pokemon Watcher, huh?” Misty asks begrudgingly as she takes in the fine-line details of his work.

 

“Yeah, my name’s Tracey. How about you guys? I have to admit, it would add a nice personal flair if I could include your names.”

 

“Include our… on _that_?” the redhead replies warily with a nod across the table at his sketchbook.

 

Of course, she doesn’t think it’s a good idea. She and Ash have both just barely escaped an epic degree of change that neither of them were ready for. Both of them have just conceded neutrality and resumed safe ground and returned to normal and this? This is the kind of thing that leads to questioning their comfort zone all too sudden, all too soon. This is the kind of thing that leads to hearts potentially reacting and stomachs potentially flopping and minds potentially racing.

 

But, before she can say this, before Misty can say she wants no part in it and the guy - Tracey, her head automatically fills in for her - will just have to call the darn picture _‘Ode to Two Random Kids Who Usually Don’t Get Along Actually Doing So For Once’_ or something like that, her friend - friend? Seriously?! - manages to chime in.

 

“My name’s Ash.”

 

“Ash, why are you–?!” Misty yelps in reply. She wonders if the guy’s ‘good samaritan’ streak is so intensely constant that he ended up automatically introducing himself because he didn’t sense a threat or something.

 

“What’s the big deal? It’s just a drawing,” he shrugs back at her in response.

 

And, for a split second she wonders if that’s really all he sees. This is Ash, after all. Something artsy and intimate like this could easily go over his head, she thinks. She wouldn’t expect anything less of him.

 

But then she notices a faint twitch in his step. She sees the odd glimmer in his eyes, the palest of reds dusting his cheeks. And she knows that he’s probably taking this que from her, that he probably _wasn’t_ intuitive enough to figure it out on his own but that her unnecessary anger and understandable panic alerted him to the underneath of the underneath of their situation… And yet, he’s taking this plunge anyway, huh?

 

And she discovers maybe it’s not so impossible to be forthcoming with change. Maybe, if Ash can come _this_ far, make _this_ move, then she can do something more as well.

 

“My name’s Misty,” she softly adds, the final introduction to their group, shaking hands and watching as the boy adds their names to the bottom of the sketch page, followed by the name of the restaurant and a timestamp.

 

So maybe it wasn’t just Team Rocket who saw something after all. And maybe she does have feelings for her - friend? Yes, at the very least - friend, Ash Ketchum.

 

And maybe that was okay to embrace, even if she could never say it out loud.

 **O** o **O** o **O**

> See what I did there? Eh? Tracey _doesn’t_ actually join Ash and Misty on their travels but still happens to cross paths and effect their future behavior and relationship. I know, I know, I’m a genius… Lol.
> 
> Btw, I was thinking that Ash and Misty would have found Lapras after the left the diner and were heading to the PokeCenter so, yeah, that’s a thing.
> 
> Anyway, that’s all I’ve got. See ya again later!


	3. Day Three: "How They Changed the Others' World" / "Confessions"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since he could remember, Ash had always been the recipient of a flawless, idealized love... so it wasn't hard to understand why Misty's confession was enough to throw him for a loop. Pokeshipping one-shot, written for day three of Pokeshipping Week.

**Notes** \- Sorry for the delay, folks! Honestly, I’m so damn exhausted from my double last night that I fell half-asleep while typing this fic up and editing it before posting _at least_ four or five times. But I kept pushing and now it’s finally complete.

I chose to apply two of the optional themes to day three. It was originally going to be just the one (the main one in the title of this post) but, as I was finishing up, I realized that - doi! - I was including a confession so, you know. There’s that one too. And we all know how addicted I am to finding a thousand different ways to get Ash and Misty to say those three special words to each other. Lol.

 _Anyway_ , I also really wanted to use this fic as an opportunity to develop Ash/Serena’s bond in a platonic way (I know; not cool). _This_ is the fic I posted about a couple of times before PW started, the one in which I said I was concerned about using Serena as a plot device… but I did my best to give her and her feelings justice while still making her play an important role in the story.

The final note is for the Pokeshippers who get so frustrated over anti-Pokeshippers writing Misty off as a violent, abusive witch because eff canon. **THIS FIC IS ESPECIALLY FOR THOSE OF US WHO KNOW JUST HOW IMPORTANT AND VALUABLE MISTY IS TO ASH, EVEN IF IT TOOK HIM THREE REGIONS AND THREE HUNDRED EPISODES ALMOST TO SEE IT.** I wanted to write a story that has Ash confronting Misty’s varying personality traits and comparing them to his other friends’. 

So here’s that thing! I hope everyone enjoys it!

 **PS / PLEASE NOTE** \- This fic was written right before the XY series ended. Therefore Serena's farewell kiss holds no bearing on her presence or part in this one-shot.

 **O** o **O** o **O**

Ever since he could remember, Ash Ketchum had been the recipient of a flawless, idealized love.

 

Delia Ketchum was a phenomenal mom. She kept house, stuffed her darling son with his favorite dishes (that she knew how to make just right), tucked him in every single night, sang him lullabies, prepared his laundry, sewed his clothes back up after they happened to wear or tear, comforted him whenever Gary Oak went a little overboard with their childhood rivalry, supported his every dream wholeheartedly, and ran the most well-established restaurant in town - all while maintaining a monumentally pleasant disposition.

 

That wasn’t to say she never once disapproved or else admonished her son when it was necessary, but even then…

 

Yup, it was easy to see that Ash Ketchum was treasured dearly and loved adoringly by his mother, and he knew that, and he based his own interpretations and experiences and expectations off of that knowledge.

 

Which was probably why it was so hard for him to comprehend Misty’s confession.

“I just… I’m sorry, what?” he asked dumbfoundedly, mouth going dry and brow sweating at this twist.

 

“Yeah, for a few years now, I’ve… you know… I’ve liked you. Probably loved you. A lot,” his redheaded friend replied nonchalantly as if she _wasn’t_ suddenly bearing her soul to him with predilection.

 

He felt the vision at the corners of his eyes darken momentarily and then mentally slapped himself for nearly blacking out from the shock. That woulda been right up there with confessing romantic affection to an unsuspecting friend on the embarrassment scale.

 

Or so he thought, but looking at her, he realized Misty seemed unperplexed by his inability to give her a straight answer. So he felt he had no choice but to ask the following question.

 

“So… why are you telling me now?”

 

“Because, Mr. Pokemon Master, for three or four years I’ve felt this way and for the past two years, I’ve been patiently waiting for you to come around but,” she paused and Ash placed his next question on hold so that she could complete her answer to the first, “We all reach the end of our rope at some point and I’m definitely getting close to mine.

 

“I’m tired, Ash… you know?”

 

No, he didn’t.

 

“I just… keep putting myself on hold–” _for you_ , she didn’t say and wondered briefly if he sensed that anyway, though probably not, considering who she was thinking about, “–and I don’t want… I can’t keep doing that anymore. I want to move forward, Ash, and my first step is to tell you how I feel.”

 

“W - well, I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say. I mean, I don’t…” he faltered here, not quite knowing why it seemed so hard to verbally reject her, but rephrased his statement and tried once more to convey his message, “I’ve never thought of you, us, that way before. I just, I mean, we’re _friends_ , we’ve always been friends, Myst, and even beyond that, I’m not really looking for… I wouldn’t know how to… _be_ with someone… like that.”

 

“Fair enough,” Misty shrugged and, again, Ash felt an intense suffocation threatening him at her blase attitude towards the whole thing, “I never expected you to be on board with this right away, Ash. I was just setting all my cards on the table once and for all.

 

“Anyway, I’m getting a bit hungry. It looks like Brock just brought out some new appetizers so I’m gonna grab some. I guess you should get back to mingling with your adoring public, right?” the redhead asked with a grin, her cheeks slightly flushed. Or maybe that was just the lighting.

 

But, before she went, she turned back on her heel to face him once more and leaned in close.

 

“Congratulations, Ash,” she told him as she wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug. “You’ve earned this.”

 

And she went one step further and kissed him on the cheek… or, well, maybe he imagined that part. He couldn’t really be that sure because he was too intensely focused on their level of physical contact - their first ever hug that he could remember.

 

Of course, when he came to, Misty had disappeared from his immediate right, and only her last words resounded in his head.

 

‘ _Congratulations. You’ve earned this.’_

 

And it was then that he remembered exactly where he was, only then that he remembered his latest triumph at the Pokemon League, coming in first place and gaining the title of entry level Kanto-affiliated Champion. No, he wasn’t yet a Pokemon Master but he’d finally - for the first time officially - brought home the gold, and he was so proud that he suddenly felt one hundred steps closer to his ultimate goal.

 

It was… funny, he supposed, that he had been so wrapped up in Misty’s (admittedly jarring) confession that he’d outright forgotten what they were even reunited over. How was that possible?

 

He refused to dwell on it - on her - any further and instead did as Misty had told him before (though not _because_ she told him but because it was _expected_ of him, because he _wanted_ to; just to be clear) and went to mingle with his adoring public (as she put it… not that he cared or was thinking about her or anything).

 

Luckily, interacting with the plethora of those who’d come to celebrate his advancement served as quite a distraction, and his mom did not disappoint when it came to extending the invite. Not only were the usual guests there but so were some gone but never forgotten old friends he hadn’t seen in ages - Casey, Ritchie, Duplica, Todd… The point was that the nostalgia alone was enough to keep his mind occupied.

 

And thank goodness.

 

Thank _goodness_ , that was, until things started to wind down a number of hours later. A few people began heading home, most went back to the hotel rooms they’d rented in order to attend the Ketchum family’s party (at a discounted rate too since the few hotels residing in Pallet Town were affiliated with Delia’s restaurant), and those who were going to be spending the night at the Ketchum home prepared to help clean up.

 

Ever the grandest host, Ash’s mom greeted everyone at the door to thank them for coming and to wish them safe travels. As he watched her, Ash was reminded of her every sacrifice for him, and her every endearing quality. Sometimes he overlooked how much she did or else gave up for him, and he felt a little bit ashamed as he considered it.

 

His vision then turned to land on Misty, who was saying her goodbyes to Iris since the dragon-type specialist was taking an overnight flight back to Unova. Iris caught Ash’s eye and smirked at him and he was briefly reminded of her earlier prod at his ego - _“Maybe now that you’re finally Champ level, you’ll actually start growing up a little!”_ \- but then her catty grin softened and she waved farewell before departing.

 

Brock, Tracey, and May were all in the midst of cleaning up different areas of the house (Brock was on dishes, Tracey on trash pickup, and May on detail) while Max and Bonnie entertained the Pokemon that had been let out to play as well. Serena, who had just finished resituating the couch cushions and wiping down every surface she could that had been previously cleared of debris, approached him to give an update.

 

“Clemont is calming down the Pokemon enough to put them back in their Pokeballs and then he, Bronnie, and I are going to head out too. We have an early flight tomorrow.”

 

“Thanks, Serena!” he told her enthusiastically and she flushed, much was something he’d noticed more and more that she did frequently around him. “You’re such a big help! But then again, you always are, right?”

 

Serena squeaked after his extended compliment but, despite that, he suddenly felt an intense wave of familiarity there that he hadn’t noticed before. There had always been something so accessible, so approachably good and comforting, about her that he hadn’t much felt around anyone else… other than…

 

His mom. _Serena reminded him of his mom_. At first, he shrunk back at the realization, thinking he should stifle the information lest things start getting _really_ weird but… but after that had passed, he soaked in the news and accepted it for what it was. It wasn’t like it was a bad thing that he saw similar traits between the two of them. It was just… Maybe strange was the word? Was that neutral enough?

 

Both his mom and Serena had sweet, sensitive, nurturing personalities, both had similar skillsets (cooking, sewing; just two examples), both could be firm and stand their ground if the situation warranted it…

 

When he looked at her, he was reminded of his mom, the one woman in his life who’d confidently established a baseline for what a positive, compassionate force of love was… but as much comfort as he found in them both, Ash realized how uneffected he seemed.

 

He’d always figured if someone claimed to love him, they would treat him how his mom did, that way he’d - you know - _see_ it, _know_ it. And most of his friends sort of merged into some of the same categories as far as he could tell ( _yes_ , even _Misty_ ); they’d comfort him, assist him, feed him, care for him. None had come as close to the maternal energy that his mom had though other than Serena, and the small differences were what helped him distinguish friends, family, and etcetera.

 

Misty had claimed to love him but her behavior was pretty much all over the map. Sometimes, sure, she could be nice. Still other times she tore down his ego or laughed at his humiliation. And yet, if he was seriously upset, there were instances when she sympathized and tried to comfort him. That bag _too_ was mixed, however, because other times she would seriously lose her temper and even start an argument. He couldn’t be sure but it certainly felt like some of Misty’s wires were crossed and it _confused_ him, further explained how he could never have seen her confession coming, maybe convinced him to a point that those feelings weren’t true…

 

But Misty had said she’d felt such a way over him for _years_. She couldn’t possibly have misinterpreted her own feelings that severely for all that time, could she?

 

And still he wondered how she could claim to love him when she was always back and forth with him on the emotional spectrum.

 

“Hey Serena,” he asked suddenly before he could contain his own curiosity, “do you love anyone?”

 

The Kalos native squeaked again, louder than she had previous, but Ash tuned out her odd behavior, eyeing Misty from the corner of his eye as she helped his mom carry leftovers into the kitchen.

 

“Ah, I - why are you asking?” she replied, face so scarlet that Ash swore he could feel the heat radiating from it, and shoulders, arms, knees, breath all stiff at what she felt - hoped? - was a completely random and unnecessarily invasive third degree.

 

Ash shrugged, but said, “Just trying to figure something out,” by means of explanation.

 

“O - oh, well, yeah, I mean… it’s normal, isn’t it? T - to have someone you like? Someone you want to be with more than anyone else?”

 

“Is that what it means for you to like someone?” he asked next. He couldn’t really say for sure that he wanted Misty at his side _‘more than anyone else’_. Sure, yeah, he definitely enjoyed her company, their friendship, and he certainly wished she could’ve kept traveling with him (because, to be honest, bi-weekly phone calls and irregular emails just weren’t the same; go figure), but again, he felt that way about all of his friends to a point. And if he _did_ happen to feel this way any more strongly for Misty, he’d always thought it was due to the fact that she’d been gone longer from his side than almost every other one of his companions.

 

“Um… well… not _just_ that… not _always_ that, I guess, but generally… It’s probably different for everyone, isn’t it? Some people want to always be with the person they like because they’re inspired by them a - and maybe because they want to… to see where that road goes that the one they liked introduced them to. Others might - might prefer to be supportive from a distance, or even in a… a tough way. Because that’s what feels comfortable or… B - but at the end of the day, it’s all about making a difference, an impact, maybe being recognized for your efforts…”

 

She tapered off at the end, tone sounding almost hopeful, though Ash couldn’t understand why.

 

“So you think - you think it’s possible to love someone even if you spend a good amount of time making fun of them or yelling at them o - or stuff like that?” he inquired next still somewhat doubtful.

 

“Um…”

 

Whatever Serena had expected, it wasn’t that. She had wondered if somehow Ash had come around and - how had she herself worded it? - _‘recognized her efforts’_ , but she didn’t think that to be the case after such behaviors were brought to light.

 

“I - I mean, I guess so… if… if those kinds of things work well for the people involved.”

 

“What do you mean _‘work well’_?”

 

Serena sighed. The last thing she expected when she accepted the group invitation sent to her, Bonnie, and Clemont to come to this party had been to give her crush relationship advice. She earnestly wished she had it in her to turn him down but, at the same time, watching him clearly struggle to find his answers caused her heart to ache. So she sucked it up and persevered, at the same time tucking her own feelings away into a corner of her mind where she would maybe have to remove them from and mourn them later.

 

“I mean… if the person you like o - or who likes you makes fun of you but it… it doesn’t hurt your feelings really, or even if you end up making fun back at them… then it’s sort of mutual. It’s positive… like banter. The same thing with yelling at you, if it doesn’t really bother you or else causes… positive change or development… if it teaches you, then… then they’re not really yelling _at_ you. They’re yelling _for_ you. It’s tough love, like I said before.”

 

And Ash found not only solace, but comprehension behind her words. When he considered it, Misty didn’t just laugh at him; they laughed at each other. And yet, though she yelled at him from time to time (much less frequently than she used to), it was usually as a last resort because he wouldn’t listen to her (and to be fair, there were times he would blow her concerns or complaints off because they didn’t suit his interests) or else as a means of motivating him to improve… which had worked on at least one occasion. Other times, she might not have been loud about it, but she would make sure to use one of his pressure points and it would yield the same result.

 

From rousing him after his loss to Gary preceding his journey to the Johto region, from trying her best to convince him to stop moping after he finished his run at the Indigo League, from cheering him on (rather forcefully) during his match against Rudy, from nursing him back to health after his being contaminated with paralysis-inducing _stun spore_ , from yelling at him over treating his Pokemon poorly (though he didn’t mean to)… to her weedling away at his ego when it seemed to be far too inflated, to helping him manage his daily routine, to remaining at his side when everyone else had gone on to walk their own paths until she’d had _no choice_ but to do much the same thing herself, to fishing him out of the water and saving both him _and_ Pikachu’s lives the very same day he’d left home to start his journey…

 

In her own way, Misty had been actively supporting him for a long time. In her own way, he could now see that she’d been loving him after all. She prioritized more than anything what he _needed_ in order to progress and thrive as opposed to what he _wanted_ to sate his desires and impulses. Nobody else he’d ever traveled with had succeeded in doing much the same thing so flawlessly.

 

Something warm and powerful swept up in his chest at this consideration, something he’d felt a thousand times before and yet never at all in his whole life. He felt that heat grow, cascading down his lower limbs and welling up, up into his throat, shoulders, mouth, head. White noise consumed his ears for an extremely long thirty seconds, and he knew.

 

She loved him. Misty really did love him. He could see now that what she did, she did because she cared, and she did because it yielded positive results. In acknowledging that, he felt the familiar, nostalgic, comforting wave of affection that he always did when he thought of, for instance, his mom, who also undoubtedly loved him.

 

Misty loved him, but it was different. She wanted a relationship like a man and a woman would have - like his parents had before his dad had left the family years ago to pursue a Master title. She loved him in the sense that she wanted an exclusive future with him - a home and a family of their own together - and in conceding that, Ash felt some odd wave of relief and favor overflow from within him.

 

And he knew he loved her too.

 

“… Ash?” Serena begged questioningly from before him, “Um, a - are you okay?” she asked, waving a hand in front of his face, hoping to return him to their present conversation.

 

“H - huh…? Oh - oh, yeah, I am! Sorry about that!” he exclaimed with a bashful chuckle, one hand sweeping to the back of his neck and rubbing anxiously.

 

Other than that, he seemed completely normal.

 

She had no idea.

 

“Okay! Um, did you have any other questions?”

 

“No, actually, I think I’ve figured it out. You were a lot of help though, thanks!”

 

Serena stared blankly at him in response for several seconds following his proclamation, perhaps trying to gauge just how severe her own heart should break after their conversation. However, despite her sense of self-restraint and her fear that she would no longer stand the same chance she’d stood before at being with him, there rose also a sensation of unbridled pride from within her.

 

She couldn’t help thinking that there were very few people Ash Ketchum would be comfortable with - willing to - discuss a romantic endeavor with. She couldn’t help thinking that it meant something, that he’d so easily broached the subject of being loved or being in love with her. She couldn’t be more right.

 

So it bothered her less than it could - should - have when he did walk away, grabbing a redheaded girl she’d barely exchanged more than pleasantries with by the hand and leading her out the door and onto the porch beyond.

 

Serena had been there to inspire Ash when he’d been in desperate need, lost as to how to handle his current predicament. Serena had given him answers, faith and confidence; she had returned a favor long overdue, even if it hadn’t gone as predicted. She had done for him what it seemed like nobody else could, what he alone had been able to do for her all those years ago.

 

And she was a little more at peace knowing that, knowing that Ash Ketchum was outside at that very moment using her words of wisdom on the subject to communicate his feelings to another girl… even if she also knew it would take quite awhile to pull herself back together after such heartbreak.

 

And outside, Ash _was_ , having run across his living room to drag Misty with him on the most instinctual of whims. (It _always_ seemed instinctual to hold her hand in times of crisis, though, didn’t it?)

 

“Ash, what’s going on?” the redhead asked him, half frustrated and half genuinely confused. She certainly hadn’t expected _this_ , after all.

 

“I was just, uh–” he stopped short, retracted his original statement, and started again. He didn’t know how Misty might’ve felt about him talking about their situation with a third party, so he’d rather just avoid finding out, “I was thinking. Or, well, what you said - what _I_ said… about not - never thinking about being with you - or with anyone because it’s definitely not just you, you know?”

 

“Ash… no. No, I don’t understand anything you’re saying. You’re not making any sense.”

 

“Yeah… yeah, I guess not,” he agreed, leafing a hand through his wild mane and leaving it there for the following few seconds as if giving himself some extra time to come up with a proper statement.

 

“I was… Look, when I was a kid, my mom - she loved me a lot - no, wait, it’s not like she doesn’t love me _now_ too, it’s just - what I mean is that she loved me in a very specific way. Like, it was really obvious, if that makes sense. And I thought - when I was a kid, remember? - that when someone loves you, they can only treat you the way my mom treated me. D - does that make sense…?”

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

“Okay, okay; good. So, uh, when you told me what you told me, I - it’s more than just not expecting it or not thinking about it before, it’s not… not understanding how your behavior… _equals_ love.”

 

“… Oh.”

 

Of every doubt, every excuse, she’d expected, she hadn’t thought that conforming to a certain behavioral spectrum to prove the authenticity of her love would make a difference or an impact.

 

“But I…”

 

Spoke with someone? Had some help? Experienced an epiphany?

 

It was then that he remembered the phrasing Misty herself had used earlier that very night. He’d never gotten around to asking what she meant by that, choosing to shelf his inquiry in hopes that she’d somehow explain it if he just gave her time, or else he could ask it later after she clarified her confession… but now he felt like, maybe, it didn’t have to come to that. Maybe he’d figured it out enough on his own.

 

“I guess the best way to say it is that I… finally came around.”

 

Misty stared, wide-eyed. She blinked. And her face lit up in a smile so bright that he thought he might have to take cover somewhere.

 

“ _Did_ you?” she asked him, leaning in a little closer as if requesting he elaborate.

 

“Yeah, I thought about it a - and I realized that there are different, less obvious, ways to show you love someone and I… I love the way you love me, Myst. I really do.

 

“And I love you.”

 

“I knew you did,” she told him smugly, but he chose to overlook it when he felt her embrace him for the second time that night - the second time _ever_ \- and he was quite overwhelmed by her arms wound around him, her cheek mashing up against his own, breath puffing over his neck.

 

He didn’t mind. He _more_ than didn’t mind it. He liked it very much, in fact. He wouldn’t have even had the slightest problem with this moment lasting awhile longer. Forever, even.

 

Alas…

 

“Honestly though, Ash. I didn’t expect you to be such a momma’s boy!”

 

Whoops. _That_ was fleeting.

M-o-m-e-n-t   o-v-e-r.

 **O** o **O** o **O**

 **Notes** \- Welp, that’s it for today! I’m grateful to all my readers! Any kudos, shares, and comments would be so appreciated that I’d probably cry myself to sleep in joy. Lol.

I hope I did justice to those fellow shippers who feel so exasperated when anti-Pokeshippers write Misty off and water her down to one or two negative quirks or traits. I tried my best to make up for it!

Btw, I am contemplating whether or not it's worth it to keep writing. Please prove to me that there are those who read and like/appreciate my work enough to make a point and _tell_ me so in some way. You may not understand how disconcerting it is to look at the 'hits' on my fics build up with no other indication that my fics are being read and enjoyed but... it is. It sucks. Right now I'm focusing on posting all of my works on the different sites I use to share them, but once everything's up... reader response is going to determine whether or not I share anything new. Do what you want with this information, but... this is my final stand as someone who feels underappreciated after laboring for hours, days, weeks, months, and even _years_ per project (depending, of course).


	4. Day Five: "Sleeping Together"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relies heavily on symbolism. Ash is in love with a memory and doesn't even realize.

**Disclaimer** \- I don't own any of the things. I swear it.

 **Author** \- Warlordess

 **Notes** \- Welcome to my fourth and final fic contribution to Pokeshipping Week, everyone! It's one of, like, _two_ where I used the actual theme given and not one of the alternates, but I also rely heavily on symbolism here.

 **As a warning** , I wrote this one right after finishing chapter one's prompt so the style is pretty similar. The warning is being posted due to a few people claiming that they didn't care for the style much as it was rather jarring, leaping from hard emotion to hard logic; I intended it to be that way on purpose but since it rubbed some the wrong way, I just wanted to clarify. I would even go so far as to say it's _paired_ with my day one entry, in case anyone wants to read it again, though it's absolutely fine to just read this one as a stand-alone as well.

Anyway, I won't spoil the setting like I did for that one since the fic starts out explaining that… so please enjoy and share it around the fandom if you feel like it! I'd greatly appreciate likes and reblogs!

 **O** o **O** o **O**

This is the story of Ash Ketchum's secret.

Well, okay, it's more the story of Ash Ketchum's secret to sleeping.

It's been four days into his Hoenn region travels when the full-blown insomnia sets in. And, to be honest, it had been building up within him for a good week before reaching this point, though Ash had, at first, assumed it was due to his not being much accustomed to a real bed anymore, seeing as he'd been back home at that time.

And again, at that point, he'd just had trouble falling asleep, but that trouble had slowly grown, and grown, until it consumed almost all of his nights with tense, wide-eyed pleas for a sandman he wasn't sure existed.

This is unacceptable, he knows. How can he hope to knock out all of his competition, earn all his gym badges, and become the greatest Pokemon Master of all time if he can't even get a good night's rest?!

But admonishing himself does no good, of course. Beating himself up mentally won't put him to bed physically.

_(oh, if only)_

One glance at May, breathing even and rhythmic, a little smile on her slightly parted lips, sprawled out awkwardly underneath her covers, leaves him envious. Another at Pikachu, curled up in a small ball right beside the raven-haired trainer's head leaves him irate and haggard at the same time. It takes everything in him to keep from ripping his own hair from his head.

Instead he huffs and wrenches the comforting plush of his sleeping bag more tightly around him, still aware enough to keep an eye on Pikachu in case the electric mouse accidentally ends up jostled by his abrupt motion.

It's not fair, he thinks, as he eyes the sky filled with pearly stars glowing above him. Not fair, he repeats, as he glares at the moon, all bright and in-his-face and distracting, but not in the good way.

He doesn't have the faintest clue what his problem is but he can already tell it won't be going away anytime soon. So he gets up, still cautious of his Pokemon, prone and peaceful at the top of his head, and begins to shake himself free of his sleeping bag. Maybe all he needs is a cup of water or something.

_(if only it were that easy)_

_(but of course it isn't)_

So he instead whiles away the next ten or so minutes by rifling through his backpack. Maybe if he has a snack he can eat or a game he can play or a magazine he can read or–

He finds something unexpected, something he knows his mom must have packed in there for him because he certainly hadn't given it enough thought at the time to do it himself.

A pink handkerchief with red trim and geometrical yellow shapes all over, and wrapped up inside there was a silverware set that he's only so far had the experience of using once.

_(tug)_

There is a nostalgic pull so violent that he feels the faint urge to vomit, but suppresses it with a deep breath while clenching his teeth shut tightly.

He hasn't thought much of Misty or Brock since he last saw them just outside of Viridian City where they parted ways. Of course, there was the one time right after that basically when Team Rocket had attacked and he'd used these very same instruments to protect Pikachu from harm and escape their trap, but that was honestly about it.

In one hand he holds the silver utensils Brock had left in his possession, in the other is the handkerchief, its fabric oddly comfortable and soft in his grasp. Their mementos taunt him, goose bumps pickle his skin as he thinks of their faces and final words, tokens of kindness and kinship before they're gone away.

His best friends.

_("Sorry, I forgot to give this to you.")_

_("And this… makes it easier to carry.")_

_("Will I… see you again?")_

_("You will; I promise!")_

He still intends to remain true to his words.

_("I get the feeling that maybe she wanted to keep on traveling with us!")_

_("Well, you know, without me there…")_

_("You mean it, Brock? We're really best friends?")_

_("It's because of this bike that I met Ash…")_

_("You're bike's there… You're… in a hurry, right?")_

_("Um… yeah…")_

_("It was awesome watching you battle like that!")_

_("Thank you, Ash, that's sweet… And thanks for always being a good friend to me!")_

He's not quite aware of just how much he's fixating, not quite aware that doing so is actually lulling him to sleep (even if not completely), not even the slightest bit aware that his gut has already made a decision about something until after he shoves the silverware back into his backpack and scurries over to the warmth of his sleeping bag once more; pink, girly handkerchief still clenched tightly in one fist.

_(he's got no use for this thing, does he)_

He absentmindedly wonders to himself as he holds the cloth up in the air above him, its bright colors quite dim with only the moon and starlight to reflect off of them.

_(why'd he bring this with him)_

He blinks up at it, crinkles the corner between his index finger and thumb, eyebrows furrowing slightly in faint aggravation.

She's always gotten under his skin so easily. She's not even _here_ right now and she's driving him crazy! Darn it, Misty!

…

_(he wonders what she's doing right now)_

_(probably sleeping, that lucky Psyduck)_

_Well, maybe not_ _ **hers**_ , he thinks with an almost delirious chuckle, before he grows somber again and withdraws the handkerchief back towards him, clutching it against his chest. _Is it even nighttime in Cerulean?_

_(he should call her)_

_(it's been over a week)_

_(she's definitely back home by now)_

_(what if something's gone wrong)_

_(shut up; she's fine)_

_(she's_ _**Misty** _ _, after all)_

He's never really known her to be incapable of anything.

_(that's right; she can do anything)_

_(well, except when it comes to cooking)_

He laughs to himself for half a moment before flipping over onto his side. He doesn't know where this confidence in her comes from but he seems to feel this way quite strongly. Well, maybe it's wrong to still be denying the amount of faith he has in the redhead after a good four years of traveling together. It's not like she's here to goad him about it, right? He knows how intense, charismatic, compassionate, sympathetic, and righteous she can be, doesn't he?

_(and how temperamental)_

He laughs again under his breath despite himself, unknowingly holding the handkerchief even tighter in honor of her memory.

_(or something)_

But he pauses here, embroiled in their most recent interaction…

_("Take care, Ash–")_

_(flinch)_

_(it really bugs him to think of that for some reason)_

_("Will I… see you again?")_

_("I swear!")_

_("I'll miss you!")_

_("Why don't you just leave me alone?!")_

Things had moved so quickly beyond that that he only realizes _now_ that he still doesn't quite get why Misty reacted so sensitively back at the Viridian PokeCenter.

_(four years)_

_(how do you be with someone daily for four years and not realize how important they are)_

_(how do you even doubt it when it's been that long)_

_(how could Misty think they weren't friends)_

_(how could he not have made that clear before the day they had to go their separate ways)_

He doesn't know at this point if he's still considering Misty's feelings or his own.

 _I miss her_.

The thought comes quick, sudden, with the weight of a world he's not equipped to handle just yet.

_(and he's Ash Ketchum; world-saving extraordinaire)_

Ash breathes deeply through his nose, not sure how to handle such a troubling notion. He's never really been in a position to _miss_ anyone oddly enough, despite the moderate number of goodbyes he's had to exchange over the past few years.

He supposes that he _has_ missed them - the Pokemon he's let go, the friends he's left behind, of _course_ he's missed them… but it was never like this, was it? Maybe it's because he's always been comfortable knowing that they're off to bigger and better things…?

_(bigger and better like taking over a Pokemon gym)_

Okay, so, yeah… He doesn't really have an explanation for how he feels. He just… _does_.

His gut tumbles round and round, eyes glazed over, heart quaking in his chest.

_(this is weird)_

_(he's too tired for this)_

_(too tired to miss her)_

_(too tired to know it)_

_(too tired to recognize the difference between her and everyone else)_

_(she's just Misty and he's just Ash)_

_(and he's just wishing she was still here)_

_(just a little bit)_

_Just stop!_ He commands his train of thought, forcibly putting his concerns to rest, even if he continues to hold onto her memento.

Eventually, Ash Ketchum _does_ finally fall asleep. Eventually his rapid heartbeat and erratic tensions and curiosity and wants for things–

_(people)_

–that he can't currently, realistically have all fade away and sweet, cautious oblivion sweeps him up into its all-too-willing embrace.

_(thank goodness)_

He does his best to sleep in late - he deserves it - but something draws him back from the pleasant throws of serene slumber. A scent of some sort.

_(what's that)_

He feels a tickle under his nose caused by something unfamiliar - yet eerily too, _too_ familiar at the same time - and squints his eyes open in the early dawning sunlight, only to be graced with slightly clouded vision.

It's the - Misty's - handkerchief, having somehow navigated its way north throughout the night until it landed on the bottom half of his face.

_(it smells like clean)_

_(it smells like…)_

It's not the same clean as the laundry detergent his mom uses - which is worth ruling out since she's the one who placed the handkerchief in his backpack to begin with. No, it's a different kind of clean, the kind that Misty always managed to smell like, even after a week or so on the road between cities. He and Brock (and Tracey) had never been able to relate to that scent themselves, no matter how hard they'd tried.

_(to be fair, they never tried that hard anyway)_

_(it's still quite the marvel though)_

For the following few minutes, Ash is struck. He can't bring himself to remove the handkerchief from over his nose. Even when his fingers wrap around it, they only seem to serve the purpose of further pressing the cloth against his nostrils.

He feels weird. He feels gross. He feels stuck. He feels his heart swell anew with an ache of longing–

_(there's mention of that world again)_

_(a world he can't even fathom)_

_(a world of change he doesn't want)_

_(because his world has everything he wants and needs)_

_(everything except…)_

He convinces himself to finally wrench the cloth away from his nose and mouth and the moment is over, the stimulation gone in seconds, and a new ache threatens to strangle him, but he gulps it back down until it dissolves into nothing.

For a moment, it was like Misty was there.

For a night, it was like she was at his side once more.

For a time, they were together again, and all was well.

_(and his heart was full)_

_(and his soul was complemented)_

_(and sleep came easily)_

_(and that world didn't seem so scary)_

_(so strange)_

_(so terrible)_

_I miss her_ , he thinks, and he accepts it easily this time instead of struggling to defy or explain it. _I wish she could be here_.

_(oh, if only)_

And yet, upon accepting his weakness, he finds that returning to slumber is somehow effortless this time around. So he tucks his feelings and her handkerchief in and knows it'll be okay.

So perhaps this is more than just the story of Ash Ketchum's secret to sleeping after traveling far from home without any of his human companions at his side. Perhaps this is the story of something else too.

_(the story of how he came to terms with praising Misty Waterflower)_

_(the story of how his friends' momentos bring him untold comfort)_

_(the story of how Misty's presence, in any capacity, lulled him to sleep)_

_(the story of Ash Ketchum finding solace in a memory)_

_(the story of Ash Ketchum not realizing he's in love quite yet)_

_(even though he is)_

**O** o **O** o **O**

 **Notes** \- As stated above, this was my last fic contribution to Pokeshipping Week. I did write a headcanon for day six and make an AMV for day seven but I won't add those here, obviously. Feel free to message me privately, or else write a logged in review asking for links if you'd like to view them. Otherwise, thank you for reading and I hope everyone who celebrates them enjoyed their recent holidays.


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